


What Hurts The Most (K/S)

by plum_blossom



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, JJ Abrams movies, M/M, Oneshot, Star Trek: Into Darkness, t’hy’la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 10:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30020247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plum_blossom/pseuds/plum_blossom
Summary: What if Star Trek: Into Darkness had ended differently and Spock had realized some major feelings he’s been having for one specific Captain, but unfortunately it’s already too late...
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	What Hurts The Most (K/S)

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this YT video: https://youtu.be/Aw-sTz81G14 which is amazing. (Pls check it out)  
> Warning: This is not proof-read at all sry

Spock’s stride was still the same. The way he made his way down the clean, white-tiled corridors of the Star Fleet Base in Florida was still the same. The way he stepped into the office of his commanding officer was still the same. The way he crossed his arms behind his back. But there was something in his look, a vulnerable emotion that was able to escape from his usually ordered facade every now and again. And t hat was new.  
He swallowed it down, straightened his spine, faced the officer across the table.  
“Commander Kline,” he said and was almost proud of just how cool it came out.

Commander Richard Kline, a white man in his 40s with gray strands to his brown hair and small black eyes, stood up from his chair on the other side of the table.  
“Captain Spock.” His voice was calm and for a moment, Spock thought he could detect pity in the way that the Commander nodded. “I’ve been awaiting you. Please, take a seat!”

Spock’s eyes darted down to the chair next to him, then back to the Commander. He opened his mouth. “Seeing as this conversation shouldn’t take too long I find it unnecessary to sit.” 

“Whatever suits you. Now, what was this urgent issue you’ve been meaning to discuss?”

“Commander Kline, I hereby temporarily resign from duty,” said Spock. “Cause for this is that I’ve been found unfit. It seems I’ve been emotionally compromised. I wish my resignation to be effective immediately.”

The Commander gave him a dumbfounded look. He huffed into the silence of the sterile office. “Captain Spock... May I ask who’s found you to be unfit?” 

“Me, Sir.”

The Commander gave him an intense look. There was a pause. Then, Spock added, “I believe I needn’t give any more reasons.”

Kline huffed again and looked down for a moment, before saying, “No. I believe I know the cause of this. I’d ask if you’ve really given this enough thought, but seeing as it’s you we’re talking about... Let’s just say, your words are quite sufficient. I’ll issue your immediate resignation. On behalf of Star Fleet, I wish you a quick recovery from your- condition.”

“I thank you, Sir.” Spock nodded. He was already turning around to leave when the Commander stopped him again. 

“And Captain Spock-“ There was something in his small black eyes, a furrow in his brow... “I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am.”

It felt like a shot in the back. Spock turned around. “Not anymore,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Kline squinted. 

“Not ‘Captain’ anymore, Sir.”

“Yes. Of course,” he cleared his throat, “Goodbye, Mr. Spock.”

Spock tilted his head as a farewell and left the office. He tried to busy his mind, counting the tiles on the floor as he walked through the labyrinth of corridors that made up the building. But he couldn’t entirely suppress the whirlwind of emotions in the pit of his stomach. He looked at the doors he passed, read the writings, and he knew he’d come back someday.  
But it would take some time until he could force himself to live with the regret.

**Three days prior.**  
Spock had never felt such rage. He’d never been so boiling hot with anger, with the wish to destroy, to revenge.  
It was only logical and morally correct to let Khan live. (He and his people were in a state of hyper-sleep. Alive, but no threat to anyone.) And yet, his human half kept getting the best of Spock and he couldn’t help but wish he’d killed Khan right there, a few hundred yards above the city, only 23 hours and sixteen minutes ago, when Spock’s fists had met Khan’s face, again and again and again. Spock couldn’t stop thinking about just how easy it would have been to lay his hands around Khan’s neck and just... 

“Spock.” Uhura’s gentle, familiar voice shook him out of his thoughts. She laid her hand over the fist that he’d clenched in his rage.

“Lieutenant,” he said weakly and forced himself to relax. He could feel her mental presence against the skin of his hand.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I’m sorry, Spock. McCoy tried everything he could.”

“I am well aware that the doctor is passionate about his profession, Lieutenant, now if you’d please remove your hand.”

She pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not understand why you’d feel the need to constantly express your condolences,” he said, “After all, it does not change the facts of the situation.”

She sighed and didn’t respond.  
Spock watched as Admiral Marcus stepped to the pedestal.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he started his speech, “Thank you all for coming. We’ve gathered here today to mourn the life of an extraordinary man.  
James Tiberius Kirk was not only an outstanding Captain to his crew, but also a fundamentally good person. He was a son, a brother, a friend, and above all, a fighter. He gave his life to save humanity. We all owe him not only great respect, but great thanks. He was too young to go. And the world is a darker place for his loss. He will be missed immensely by many.  
But we’ve come together not only to mourn. But also to celebrate the life of a man much braver, much stronger, much more adventurous than most others. So let us mourn, but let us also revel in the glorious deeds of Captain James T. Kirk, who has been given much too little time in his life. May he Rest In Peace.”

Dry applause arose. Spock did not clap. His eyes were fixed on the sleek, black casket on the pedestal in front of him. How come that there were at least a hundred people gathered here, but the only person he cared about was lying dead in a wooden case? He couldn’t help but wonder what that said about himself. How had he not been able to save Jim?

“Dear crewmen,” said a voice and it made Spock look up. McCoy had stepped to the microphone. “Dear family and friends.  
Today I’ve lost not only my Captain, but also my friend. I’ve had about a million arguments with Jim. I think the first thing I said to him was that I might throw up on him.”  
Ripples of sad laughter went through the crowd.  
“He had good humor. And he had a good heart. God knows why he had to go so soon. I hope that Jim in spirit might finally see his father again. I remember the evenings on the Enterprise when we’d sit with a glass of whisky stolen from Chekov’s quarters - I’m sorry for that, Chekov. - and he’d speak about his family, about his past. And often about his future as well. It’s a goddamn pity we won’t get to see that.  
But at heart I’ll never forget the light this man has brought into my life,” he was choking back tears now, “I couldn’t feel more honored to have been a part of Jim’s story. I know we all have known him and we’ll all carry pieces of him with us for the lest of our lives. May we honor those pieces. He’ll live on in our souls. It will be bittersweet. I’ll never forgive myself for not being able to save him. But I don’t ever want to forget this man’s light and the memories we’ve shared. Rest In Peace, Jim. My friend.”  
He wiped at his eyes, stepped away from the pedestal. 

Spock blinked. Surprisingly enough, and for the first time, he could understand the doctor’s emotional words. _Bittersweet._ Yes, that was the right word. The past had been sweet. The present was bitter.  
Spock looked at the casket again and there was a tear rolling down his cheek. It shocked himself. Disbelieving, he raised his hand up to catch it. And there it was. A Vulcan tear. Or maybe it was human. Either way, it was a realization.  
Spock stood frozen to the spot at Jim Kirk’s funeral, looking at the salty wet spot on his index finger, and realized that he could impossibly take on Jim’s role as the Captain of the Enterprise. 

**Two months later.**  
Spock poured some tea into a petite white cup held by delicate, dark-skinned hands. More specifically, Uhura’s skin was oakwood colored - an analyzation of Spock’s that she’d found quite romantic.

“Thank you,” she said and smiled at him. 

Spock carefully placed the kettle down on the glass table between them. He insisted on making tea the old-fashioned way. Nobody knew why. There were a couple of human quirks he’d adapted however, since living in Florida.  
He sat down on the low couch opposite Uhura. 

“How are you?”, she asked. 

“If you are referring to my emotional state, I can assure you, I’m fully under control.”

“That’s... good to hear, I suppose.” She took a sip of tea. Spock looked stiff sitting on the couch, somehow off as though he didn’t belong there. Which he didn’t.  
“But I was actually referring to your work. I haven’t heard from you in months.”

“Two months and four hours exactly,” said Spock. “And I am making fast progress in my research.”

“Good to hear.” There was a pause. “Spock, I...” She broke off, looked into her cup of tea, back up at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again. 

Spock blinked. “If there is a matter you would like to address, I suggest you do it, Lieutenant. I’m sure you don’t want to spend all of your shore leave in my living room.”

She shook her head. “I wanted to ask...” She sat the cup down onto the table. “Spock, when are you coming back?”

He blinked. “Lieutenant, your query is most illogical. Not only do you know that I am still occupied with research here, but if I intended to return to the Enterprise soon, you’d also be informed.”

“So, that’s a no.”

“You didn’t ask a yes or no question. Besides, even though I am under full control of my emotions, there is no guarantee that-“

“Yes.” She sighed. “I know, Spock. It’s just- I miss you. It’s not the same with you gone. Even McCoy agrees.” A small smile appeared on her lips. 

But Spock was cool as ever. “It’s no advantage to have an emotional connection to me, such as pitying my absence.” 

“Yes, Spock, missing someone has nothing to do with advantages.” She looked him in the eyes. “You must know. Don’t you miss him?”

Spock’s jaw clenched. 

“Listen, I know he’s the reason you don’t want to come back, but-“

“Captain Kirk is not the cause of my resignation from duty.”

“Spock, you can’t spend your whole life in this tiny living room or some strange laboratory in LA!”

“I intend to return to New Vulcan as soon as I’m finished with my studies her-“

“That’s not what I mean!” Uhura stood up. Her eyes were blazing with emotion. “You cannot keep pretending you don’t care about his death!”

“Getting emotionally involved in the passing of a person who chose to die would be illogical.”

“ _My, God, are you even listening to yourself?!_ ” Uhura stared at him. “Look at you! You’re sitting on a couch, talking about logic when only two months ago, Kirk gave his life to save us all! It’s not about logic. It’s not about ‘getting emotionally involved’. There isn’t a choice of getting involved or not. You _are_ involved. Whether you like it or not!” She’d run out of air. 

Her words hung thickly in the tastelessly furnished apartment. Spock wasn’t moving.

“Say something!” But he didn’t. “Anything! You’re sorry, you want me to go, what I’m saying is illogical - say _something_ , Spock!” But he kept his silence for a long time.  
So Uhura just stood there, in the middle of Spock’s living room, somewhat defeated. And she waited. 

Spock sat on the couch, stiff, motionless, staring back at her with an indecipherable look on his face, a sort of vacancy, much more heartbreaking than anything she’d ever seen his face display. 

And then, very quietly, Spock stood up and went to the door and opened it.  
“I do miss the Captain,” he said, “Now, please go.” 

**Three months later.**  
Spock’s hands trembled as he held onto the black shirt in his hands. It was the most illogical thing that a simple black article of clothing made from cotton could make him feel so endlessly emotional. He felt he might break. It was the most shame he’d ever felt. The most defeat. It was like the walls were crashing down all around him and suddenly he was revealed to all of New Vulcan.  
An animal on display, scared and shaking, watched by hundreds of pairs of intelligent eyes behind which logic brains lay. Brains nothing like his, it seemed. Of people who’d never break down like he was right now. 

He took a deep breath and sat down on his bed, trying to collect his thoughts.  
Why this shirt? Because he wore it to the funeral. Not only that, he wore it when he first met Kirk, first looked him in the eyes, in the courtroom of the Star Fleet Academy, when Kirk had been no more than a Cadet cheating on his test.  
_Bittersweet,_ found Spock. The funeral and the first time looking into Jim’s clear blue eyes. Bittersweet. 

He took another shaky breath. And he felt the rage inside of him again. But it was only a minor concern next to the sorrow. Spock imagined that this was what drowning must feel like. Choking on sorrow. And again, he was shaking.  
_No,_ he wasn’t supposed to feel this.  
He wasn’t supposed to feel at all.  
And he wasn’t supposed to feel so guilty.  
Jim had chosen to go down into the reactor, even with Mr. Scott warning him, it had been Jim’s decision, not Spock’s fault. And yet, he felt he should have been in Kirk’s place. He felt he should never have let him go with Kahn to Admiral Marcus’ ship. It was utterly illogical obviously, because he couldn’t have anticipated what happened next. And yet, he felt so guilty it shook him to the very core. 

He took another deep breath and pushed down the feelings bubbling within his body, forced them to live next to the shame of feeling them in the first place. But it seemed his whole body wanted to weak havoc. And so it did.  
The next second, he was standing bowed over a sink, emptying his stomach. He’d never felt as weak, as graceless as now, standing over his own puke, barely keeping himself upright. 

And all the pain of the loss that he’d carried on his shoulders broke down on him. The emptiness that Jim’s death had left in Spock’s life turned into a black hole and sucked him in, never to spit him out again. 

He felt like screaming, but all that came out was a silent sob and his eyes spilled all his secrets in watery ink on his cheeks, drawing salty lines on his skin.  
He remembered seeing the strength leave Jim’s eyes. He remembered him saying, _“This is what you would have done.”_ And right there, right then, Spock had felt it.  
He should have been the one to die. 

**The next day.**  
_That’s the cruel thing. Life goes on without them, and somehow you live on without them. It’s strange and it feels wrong for a very long time to wake up and get up and dress up and just live on. While they don’t._  
And that’s what Spock did. He woke up and got dressed. He helped out in the lab, did some calculations for engineering, discussed some regulations with a human worker and analyzed some sand from the surface of New Vulcan. It helped him forget.  
But not fully. Every now and then, he’d see someone wearing the Star Fleet emblem on a yellow shirt and he’d see Jim in front of his mind’s eye. Or he’d hear someone make a cheeky comment and think of Jim. Sometimes he found it agonizing, sometimes irritating, sometimes saddening, and sometimes he just felt numb. It was like the whole universe couldn’t stop reminding him of Jim. He saw him everywhere, however illogical that was.  
And in his laboratory, on his own, bowed over a probe, he’d think of the way Jim sometimes used to come into his lab on the Enterprise, after his shift, to relax.  
He’d just quietly sit next to Spock on a spare chair and rest his head on the table, watching Spock’s hands as he worked. It used to have a soothing effect on him apparently.  
Spock remembered the time Jim actually fell asleep in Spock’s lab on the table next to a tribble. Spock would never admit it to anyone that he had carefully placed a blanket over Jim’s shoulders and had let him sleep until he needed to leave the lab, or that he’d softly shook him awake, then, and had watched his drowsy Captain blink up at him. 

Spock had theoretically been prepared to take over Jim’s position as Captain of the Enterprise in the case of his early passing. But in reality, he wasn’t prepared at all. How could he ever sit in that very same chair that Jim used to sit in? Sure, he could pretend to be okay. That was no problem for him. But he’d never really be okay. And he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to pretend. 

Spock had too much time to think about these things now, because _he_ was still alive. He still lay in his bed at the end of every day, breathing.  
Thinking. 

And he realized that what was much worse than all the things that had happened were the things that hadn’t happened. 

**The next night.**  
The shaking of Jim’s breath. The red rims around his blue eyes. His swollen lips.  
“I’m scared, Spock.” The honesty. “Help me not be.” The hope. Jim overestimated Spock. “How do you choose not to feel?”, he asked in the very moment that Spock was shivering with feeling. 

And the only thing he could do was be honest. “I do not know,” said Spock and looked at Jim with all the honesty in the world, all the _I’m Sorry_ s that have ever been spoken, all the longing to help him - right there, right in that glance of his eyes. “Right now I am failing.” _Failing at helping you. Failing at keeping the tears out of my voice._

“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die.” Jim’s voice broke. “Why I went back for you.”

And all Spock could think was, _I can’t let him say it. Not now. If I hear him say it now, I’ll break. Don’t make it your dying breath. Don’t make that the last thing. It’s always been the first thing. Don’t say it, don’t make it the last thing._  
And he said, “Because you are my friend.” _And so much more. So much more, but I can’t say that, because you’re dying. T’hy’la, you’re dying and I don’t know what to do._

Jim wanted to say another thing, but his vocal cords didn’t let him. Instead he put his hand on the glass. And Spock mimicked the movement. It was almost like touching him, but just not quite.  
It was a pitiful attempt to make up for all the touches that didn’t happen in the past.  
Spock’s T’al against Jim’s. 

There were tears on Spock’s face and in Jim’s eyes and he wanted so bad to just say it. Just let him know.  
_I ashaya du._  
But Jim’s eyes broke. Spock thought he could see blood spilling from them. All life left Jim. His hand slid away from the glass.  
And Spock was left behind in the world of the living. Awfully alone amongst all these people. Awfully alone with the tons of unspoken words.

Spock woke up in cold sweat. It was still night on New Vulcan. He was breathing heavily. His heart rate was dangerously high.  
It took him a moment to fully realize that it had in fact been a memory-turned-dream. 

He could impossibly just go back to sleep. He tried nevertheless. He meditated, but it was no use. He changed into fresh clothes, changed the sheets of his bed, tried to fall asleep again. Unsuccessfully. 

And then, he arranged a meeting. He needed someone to talk to. Desperately.  
Maybe he could help. 

**One hour later.**  
Spock was dressed in a typical Vulcan robe, similar to the one that the man next to him wore. They stood by the window watching one of the suns of New Vulcan rise behind the horizon. It had been odd at first, being able to talk to oneself. But Spock had found his older version to make quite pleasant company - as far as Vulcans would consider someone’s company pleasant. 

“You have come, because you are troubled,” said Prime Spock with his calm, rumbling voice. He handed his younger self a cup of tea. “Explain.”

“You know that Captain Kirk has passed,” said Spock carefully. 

“I have been informed. Why is it that you haven’t taken his place?”

Spock looked down at his reflection on the surface of the tea. “That is why I am here. Jim’s death has made me... unnaturally emotional.”

“I understand.” The soft sunlight fell onto their faces, illuminating so clearly all of the similarities and differences between them. 

“What do you suggest I do?”, asked Spock. 

His older self raised an eyebrow. “You will do whatever you will do. I should have no say in it. However, there is a different question you are wanting to ask, but aren’t.”

Prime Spock was right. Of course he was right. Spock took a deep breath, braced himself for the answer, and then asked, “Did you ever tell him?”

There was an expression on the elder Spock’s face that could be read as a sly smile.  
“In my own ways.”

“Did he understand?”

“It would confuse me to no end were you to seriously doubt the Captain’s social intelligence, for I never have.”

Spock drank of the tea and squinted his eyes a little against the sun. “How do I not feel the pain?”

“Not at all,” responded Prime Spock, “It will always accompany you. The pain of all that wasn’t and of all that was. The regret and the trauma. I can assure you it will get less, but it will never go altogether. Some days it will be easier, other days, more difficult. There is no filling the hole, only befriending it.” He turned to look at his younger self in deep seriousness. “You will need the pain. It will help you keep going. And it will remind you of all that has been. The good and the bad.”

“So, it’s not about pushing it down?”

“No. It’s about making peace. It always has been about making peace.”

They stood in silence for some time. Prime Spock stirred his tea. 

“I loved him,” said Spock, “He was my T’hy’la, but I never told him.”

“I know,” responded his older self. “We loved him. We still do and we always will. It’s our human half, I suppose.”

“I was so close to telling him.”

“Don’t think too much of what might have been. I could have told him, too. Many times. And yet, I didn’t.”

“Why?” Spock turned his head. “Why didn’t we?”

“Because he already knew. He’s always known. That’s why losing him hurts so much.”  
The sun soaked through the clouds and gave them a deep red color. Spock looked at it and thought of Jim’s blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
